Harold had always liked blue. It reminded him of the bachelor buttons in his mother’s little flower garden. He wondered if her eyes were blue, too. He didn’t want to stare, but during the hymn- singing, between his efforts to follow the Portuguese words in the songbook, he verified his guess that the eyes matched the ribbons. There was preaching, more singing, talking, and then a Gospel distribution. Harold promised to help again. The following week Harold decided he would try out a bit of the new language he was learning. Deborah was standing again with the group beneath the mango tree. He attempted a few words in Portuguese, and it didn’t seem very hard at all when she encouraged his humble attempts with a sympathetic smile. The young people of the church found the Christian “Americano” to be a happy addition to their spiritual fellowship, as well as their social gatherings. His newly-acquired, unwieldy Portuguese brought many a hearty laugh, and they often teased him without mercy. Harold was observant, a good mimic, a not-poor student and, all in all, held his own. One evening, however, in retort to the good-natured ribbing, he used a Portuguese expression he had repeatedly heard the young men in the boardinghouse use. Unfortunately, the expression was a shady one whose implication he didn’t understand. There was a shocked silence from the young people, then a good-natured drubbing for his ignorance.
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